Les Rosan: The simple cardboard box

Saturday, April 20, 2013

I spent last weekend researching material with the intention of writing a humorous epistle about eating a simple piece of coffee cake. I figured there would be no problem finding humor about the butylhydroquinone-laced coffee cake and chemically processed coffee I had consumed for breakfast. I was on a roll, no pun intended, but as is often the case something else came up that forced a complete about face. Sadly, the coffee cake column disappeared but will rise again. Judging by the voluminous amount of chemical additives and preservatives researched for the story, I am cautiously optimistic that this particular piece of journalistic material will never go stale.

The change of direction resulted from the discovery of a time capsule. This particular vessel, unlike most time capsules, was not secreted in a cornerstone, buried under concrete or inadvertently discovered. I am not sure when the capsule was placed but documents found inside were dated between 1956 and 1965. The capsule was void of any coffee cake but if it had been there I’m sure it would have looked as pristine as it did the day it was placed inside. Now, whenever I imagine historical items worthy of time capsule placement, I always envision that they will be protected in some sort of futuristic looking container. Nothing prepared me for this particular piece of history when it was handed to me by my ninety-one year old mother, Pattie Sue Johnson, during a visit with her last fall. Pattie Sue possessed some magical talents in the past and had exercised some of them a couple of years ago when she moved from her large home outside of Mansfield, Ohio to her current studio apartment. In spite of my admonition at the time that she could not cram ten pounds of stuff into a five pound bag, Pattie Sue mysteriously found a way to make it work, at least in the short run. The problem with personal stuff though is that it often shares the same qualities as gaseous material and will expand to fill all available space. Pattie Sue’s magical traits finally started to wane with the acceptance that I actually was right. With a wave of Pattie Sue’s wand of guilt, I miraculously became the new owner of some of her stuff. As I was handed one box she commented that I might just want to look through it. I had no way of knowing at the time that I had just been given a gift, a time capsule of sorts that appeared to be nothing more than a simple cardboard box.

I glanced inside but really didn’t take the time to examine it thoroughly. I told Pattie Sue I would take the box with me and go through it after returning home. It was dutifully placed into the car and made the trip back to Michigan where it was promptly placed into my own five pound bag better known as the basement office. That office had been abandoned a couple of years ago when I rented office space in downtown Alma, and it has since grown into my own personal and very large junk drawer. Over the winter Carol was insistent that I clean up that office. I finally admitted it had to be done but she wasn’t really impressed with my offer to let her do it for me, although she did agree to help. I was just hoping that Carol’s assistance would not involve any weapons aimed in my direction.

The first order of business was to pry open the time capsule, and what a revelation that turned out to be! Found inside were my progress reports and report cards from kindergarten through ninth grade. The most obvious question was why Pattie Sue would save the educational detritus which so effectively documented the academic flounderings of her only son. It just must be a mother thing because there is no other explanation. The most probing question is how it is that traits identified in early elementary school seem to be genetically imprinted and unchangeable even as one enters the final chapters of this earthly story we call life.

Just a few examples:•“Lester will not take his time on his written work”—Mrs. Mary Morton second grade.

•“Lester needs an occasional reminder to do his work neatly. Lester is capable of doing much better, especially in arithmetic and science.” – Jacqueline Popielec, fourth grade

•“Lester talks too much” – D. Baier fourth grade

• “Lester’s problem is that he races through his work to get finished which results in a careless answer.”-- P. Abraham, fifth grade

Elementary school was bad, but things really hit the skids when I moved on to seventh grade. My less than stellar second marking period consisted of four D grades, one E, a B+, a C and a C-. That was bad enough in its own right but then there were the additional negative comments necessary to place a crowning exclamation point onto my educational misery:

•Failure to do daily preparations,

•Work done carelessly, •Failure to pass tests.

Carol, my adoring wife and longtime educator, has at times hinted that my unique set of “Lesterisms” could be helped with proper and prompt medical intervention. As I look around at the somewhat chaotic state of my office and the 11th revision of this column, I just wonder ever so slightly if she could possibly be right. Naaaaah, not possible I think. The “Lesterisms” after all provide the foundation of my eclectic and fetching personality.

“Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible.” — Frank Zappa

Les Rosan is a Morning Sun columnist. His e mail is LRInvestigations@charter.net